


For the DWC: Napping in sunshine, for the character of your choice!

by Amata_Hawke



Series: Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle [DWC] [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: DWC, Drunk Writing Circle, Gen, Tumblr Prompt, relaxing in the sun, sensory prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amata_Hawke/pseuds/Amata_Hawke





	For the DWC: Napping in sunshine, for the character of your choice!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ContreParry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/gifts).



Merrill draws in a deep breath and lets it flow out, soft and smooth. Summers in Lowtown are stifling and smelly, but here in the garden at the Viscount’s Keep, things are different. She feels the glow of the sun beating down on her where she’s sprawled out in the grass under the big oak tree. It warms her clothes, the heat sinking into her bones. The leafy canopy overhead keeps the sun from burning her face, but the warm glow of the sunlight still filters through her closed eyelids. A balmy wind blows in off of the water below, flowing past her and caressing her cheek. She turns her face into it to feel it wash over her more fully. The current brings the scent of roses with it… the sound of it moving through the trees could almost be the sound of aravels in a light breeze. She dozes, comfortable in this moment of peace.

Merrill misses the forests of Ferelden, the wet smell of the earth there, the clean rivers. This place isn’t the same, but in some ways, it’s better. The heat of the summers in the Free Marches agrees with her, although it makes Aveline irritable and Hawke seems to melt if left out in the sun for too long. The sudden drone of a bee sweeps past her left ear, and rouses her for a moment. Recognizing the sound, she huffs a silent laugh to herself, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. There are fewer mosquitoes and biting flies here, too. The insects around Kirkwall are mostly friendly things, like the bees, colorful beetles, and graceful little butterflies. She opens her eyes lazily, watches the grass wave gently in the breeze and the clouds scudding across the sky. She savors the peace she finds here.

Merrill reaches out idly with one hand to feel the blades of grass between her fingers, slick in the center and catching slightly along the edges of the leaves, the softness of the seed heads at the end of round stalks. She plucks one of the stalks and examines the pods closely, turning it slowly in her hands, appreciating the detail of them, the way the light plays on the stem. In moments like this, there is no confounding mirror, there is no conflict, there is no past or future. 

Only quiet, and the beauty of nature, and the heat of the sun. In moments like this, she is content.


End file.
